Johnny Loses It
by Ross7
Summary: An overly-tired John Gage contracts a case of 'the giggles'. *grin*


"**Johnny Loses It"**

**By Ross7**

Ten hours into their regular 24-hour tour of duty, Station 51's A-shift crew had been called upon to help battle a brushfire that was raging out-of-control in Diablo Canyon.

* * *

Eight exhausting hours later, 51's firefighters were ordered back to base camp, for some mandatory 'down time'.

* * *

The fatigued—and famished—firemen finally reached the staging area and staggered through the lantern-lit chow line.

Captain Hank Stanley stopped to hold a brief 'bull session' with a group of his peers.

His men stumbled up a little rise, overlooking the 'Rehab' station.

* * *

51's guys balanced their drinks upon their metal plates and one-handedly unbuckled their sweat-soaked canvas coats. The crew spread their jackets out on the steep slope's damp ground and then carefully dropped their dragging asses down upon them.

The hungry men's midnight meal was consumed in both total darkness and complete silence.

* * *

The firemen quickly finished eating and set their empty plates aside. Then they leaned back and propped themselves up on their elbows.

The completely-spent fire crew stayed right where they laid, staring silently down the damp, dark hillside.

* * *

Chet Kelly could feel something crawling up his pant leg. He banged his left boot heel against the ground a couple a' times, in a feeble attempt to dislodge the pesky intruder.

Suddenly, from somewhere just off to their right, a lone cricket started '_chirp_'ing.

"Do crickets _bite_?" Kelly nervously inquired.

Their buddy's absurd, completely out-of-the-blue, question caused John Gage to crack up.

When the paramedic was overly-tired, he was prone to fits of 'the giggles'.

His shiftmates knew that, once Johnny got going with 'the giggles', there would be no stopping them.

So they silently resolved to _keep_ Gage going.

"I don't ever recall reading any reports of any 'cricket maulings' in any of the local papers," Roy DeSoto reassured the questioner. "However, one named 'Jiminy' might _jab_ _you with his umbrella_."

Sure enough, the blond paramedic's witty—er, downright silly reply caused his partner's giggling to intensify.

"Why do you ask?" Roy went on to wonder.

Chet gave his boot heel another annoyed stomp. "Something is crawling up my left pant leg, en route to the 'family jewels', and I figure it's prob'ly a cricket."

Their crewmate's snickering continued.

Marco Lopez's helmeted head swung in his unseen chum's direction. "Chet, you wouldn't know a cricket, if one _did_ bite you—in the 'family jewels'."

More laughter came from the dark-haired paramedic's position.

"I do so know crickets!" Kelly insisted. "I've seen them—up close and personal. They look like little black grasshoppers."

"Oh. So, it's only little 'black' grasshoppers that you have an aversion to," Mike Stoker insincerely surmised. "You hear that, guys? Kelly is a bug bigot."

Their engineer's light comments caused John Gage, and everybody else within earshot, to chuckle—delightedly.

* * *

All open eyes in the Mess area suddenly looked up the slope.

Other guys began gravitating toward the sound of the laughter, like moths being drawn toward an open flame.

* * *

Stanley saw the commotion his crew was creating and exchanged grins with his fellow captains. "Sounds like the 'kiddies' may be getting a little out of hand. Excuse me, gentlemen," the fire officer begged off and began heading up the hillside himself.

The men Hank worked with were a 'fun-loving group' and, well, he didn't want to miss out on any of the merriment.

* * *

"Hey, Cap!" Stoker greeted Stanley, as their fearless leader's silhouetted form gradually appeared above them—er, below them. "Were you aware that Chester B., here, is a bug bigot?"

The Captain removed his damp turnout coat, draped it over the even damper ground and then dropped down onto it, to sit beside his 'goofy' guys. "Can't say as I was," the grinning fire officer was forced to confess.

Marco's helmeted head swung back in his unseen pal's direction. "So, how did _you_ happen to come to know crickets—up close and personal?"

"My niece Alexandria's project for the Science Fair was to determine which conditions are conducive to 'cricket song'," Kelly explained.

"Ali's only _eight_," Lopez promptly pointed out. "I should think that it would a' been enough of a project just for an eight-year-old _gi-irl_ to 'capture' a cricket."

"_That_ was the easy part," Kelly determined. "Turns out, crickets can be purchased—by the dozens—from most any pet store."

"From the _pet_ store?" the blond-haired paramedic repeated, sounding somewhat baffled.

"Hi," Lopez immediately piped up. "I'm Marco, and this is my pet cricket, Fluffy."

Another round of snickers ensued.

"They're not sold as _pets_," Chet chided. "They're sold as _food_ for pets."

"What kind of a _pet_ consumes crickets?" Roy wondered, sounding more confused than ever.

"Spiders…turtles…snakes…lizar—" Chet began to list, only to be interrupted.

"—I repeat, what kind of _pet_ consumes crickets?"

51's guys were amused to no end.

Marco was anxious to hear about the rest of his chum's 'up close and personal' cricket encounter. "Okay. So, that was the easy part. What was the _hard_ part?"

"Well, my sister Annie doesn't 'do' _bugs_. And my brother-in-law was out of town—on business. So I kind a' got talked into helping Ali with her science project. I tell yah, you haven't lived, until you've spent a hot, humid evening sitting around a backyard pool with a whiny eight-year-old and an aquarium full of crickets and dry ice."

His audience snickered.

Kelly grinned and quickly continued his narrative. "Hour after hour passed, without so much as a single '_chirp_'. You've never seen such uncooperative insects. We even wrote the crickets a couple a' songs. So they'd have something to sing, should the urge arise."

More giggling could be heard.

"But, midnight arrived and all there was to show for it was one soundly-sleeping eight-year-old and a bunch a' cricket-cicles. It was pretty obvious that 'conducive' conditions had _not_ been met. Which meant _another_ trip to the pet shop…and _another_ evening sitting out of doors around the pool…waiting for the crickets to begin serenading us. This time, we used regular ice cubes, instead of the dry ice. And we added a relative humidity gauge to the thermometer and barometer. Turns out, crickets sing to attract the chicks. At 67 degrees Fahrenheit, or 30 degrees Celsius, a cricket will produce 20 to 30 short, metallic rasps—at around 4 per second. Each series of notes lasts about 5-tenths of a second, followed by a 5-second rest period. So it's: sing five seconds…pause five seconds…sing five seconds…pause five sec—"

"—All right," Gage interrupted the lecturer, with a giggle and a grin, "now you're _really_ beginning to scare me."

"Us," Marco quickly corrected.

Their comments prompted a fresh round of laughter.

"You scoff," Kelly conceded. "But, if a 'cricket' category ever comes up on 'Jeopardy', _I'm _set! And, here's the _really _interesting thing, the rate at which crickets sing varies with the temperature. For instance, the higher the temperature, the faster they sing."

Kelly's audience continued to just lie there—silently. His fellow firefighters were both stunned and amused by the Irishman's impromptu lecture.

"Crickets hear with their knees," Mike Stoker suddenly, and solemnly, proclaimed.

The engineer's solemn proclamation sparked a whole nother round of hearty laughter.

Hank swiped the tears from the corners of his mirth-filled eyes and contemplated whether or not the conversation could possibly get any more 'off the wall'.

The Captain did not have to wait very long for an answer.

"How did THEY ever come to _that_ conclusion?" DeSoto asked, sounding extremely dubious.

"That's easy," Lopez insincerely replied. "The scientists who were studying the crickets noticed that they were wearing little kneephones, instead of little headphones."

Marco's ludicrous comment caused his chums to chuckle once again.

"So-o, let me guess…" Gage urged, once the latest round of laughter had died back down. "You and Ali got an 'A' on your science project, and the crickets signed a five-year recording contract with a major record label. Ri-ight?"

"Ali did receive an 'A'," Kelly conceded. "However, I'm afraid that there was no lucrative record deal for the crickets. I had visions of driving out to some remote locale and releasing the crickets to a few choruses of 'Born Free'. Alas, kids these days are much more practical. Ali gave the crickets to her friend Cal, and he fed them to his Iguana."

The firemen found their friend's account of the crickets' fate extremely amusing.

Gage's giggles were back and most infectious.

Their Captain's light laughter was highly contagious, as well.

"What's really cool about crickets," Professor Stoker continued on, undaunted, "is that you can actually tell the temperature—Fahrenheit, by adding 40 to the number of chirps in a 15-second period. Crickets also like to sing in harmony. When the scientists yanked the crickets' legs off, they couldn't harmonize anymore. _That_ was when THEY realized that crickets must hear with their _knees_."

The dark-haired paramedic was now laughing harder than ever, but was still able to maintain _some_ semblance of composure.

"That doesn't prove anything," Hank quickly determined. "_You_ prob'ly wouldn't feel like **singing** either, if some sick, sadistic scientists came along and yanked _your_ legs off."

_That_ was when Johnny completely lost it…right along with every other fireman that happened to be within hearing range of Captain Stanley's comment.

**The End **

Author's note: _Hey, guys! *wave wave* Whilst mowing my seven acres of lawn yesterday, I noticed that there were thousands of crickets hopping around-everywhere! My bored brain immediately went to work on an E! cricket fic'. lol_

_I would like to thank the crickets-for inspiring this story, and I would like to thank yous-for reading it. :)_

_:)Ross7  
_


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